Busted and Blue
by McTuckerAddict
Summary: Who am I describing, you I might ask? His name is Craig Tucker, and he's a member in this band that's kind of blowing up everywhere now. I know him well. Or, I used to, at least. I knew everyone where I grew up, and everyone knew me. Now, in my fancy new adult-ish life, no one knows me. No one cares to know me. ..I'm not sure which situation I prefer.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: The Nervous First Day

Chapter Track: Waving Through a Window from DEAR EVAN HANSEN

I know it's creepy to stare at people. I know, okay. I get it, believe me- I have enough people staring at me that I know this fact better than any other fact in the entire expanse of the known universe, and probably beyond that as well. I mean, I'd stare at me too, I guess. I'm tall, thin, gawky, and clumsy as shit to boot. Plus, I wear these perfectly round, tortoise-shell glasses that make my eyes so big they look like they're gonna pop out of my head. And my hands, Jesus. Where do I even start with them. I always pick at them, so they're covered in a crap-ton of pastel bandaids. Not to mention the long, bright yellow rat's nest on top of my head that I happen to call hair. I can barely manage to get it into a ponytail each day, but if I wore it any shorter it would be worse to take care of; it would stick out from all angles, and I would be powerless tame it. Lately I've taken to using pins and clips to keep it out of my face, but it looks sloppy and unpracticed. Which, it is, but I don't like looking like that.

So, considering all of this, I should know not to stare at people, right..? But sometimes I can't help it.

Especially when who I'm staring at is so beautiful.

And I mean that, when I say that he's beautiful. And I don't throw that word around much anymore. But he is. He's fairly tall, about six foot two or so; I'm not really very good at guessing that sort of thing. He's got dark hair, but he mostly hides it under his hat. He's worn this same stupid hat since he was a kid, and it's this dusty blue color with a yellow pompom on the top of it. And, God, his face. It looks like it was sculpted out of clay, made specifically to grace the concert stages of the world. It would look even better if he were to smile once in a while, but that's beside the point I guess. He only smiles sometimes, when he gets lost in his own head on stage. It's like the music melts into him and he completely disappears, like he's not even on this planet anymore. Even then it's a tiny little smile, like he doesn't realize he's even doing it. Come to think of it, he probably doesn't.

Who am I describing, you I might ask? His name is Craig Tucker, and he's a member in this band that's kind of blowing up everywhere now. I know him well. Or, I used to, at least. I knew everyone where I grew up, and everyone knew me. Now, in my fancy new adult-ish life, no one knows me. No one cares to know me.

..I'm not sure which situation I prefer.

Someone bumps into my shoulder and I snap out of my own head, jerking around to keep the tray of coffee I had in my hands balanced and off the pavement. Great. Just when I fucking thought I had gotten away from the stuff, I'm thrust into a job where one of my only responsibilities so far is getting people's coffee orders right. Then again, I am pretty new here. It's the first day of the tour, and the first tour I'm on, so Token doesn't really have me doing much else yet. I probably shouldn't refer to him so casually, right? I mean, he is sort of my boss.

…He's totally my boss. But I do know him for, like, my whole life, and he did say that I didn't have to call him Mr. Black like everyone else does... Sighing, I grip the tray - with both hands this time - before continuing on my way to the snack table, grabbing a few of Token's favorite muffins before heading back towards the trailers we have set up behind the concert hall we happen to be at this week.

A lot of this is totally new to me. I can tell that Token gave me this personal assistant job out of what I assume to be pity, but it's a job nonetheless. See, when I left my tiny home town of South Park after high school, I thought I'd be pretty okay. My school gave me a good scholarship, I had financial aid to cover the a good amount of the rest and a small loan for the leftovers. I worked whenever I wasn't in school to pay it off and pay for anything else I may have needed, like medical things, clothes, books. That kind of thing. My parents were no help; I haven't spoken to either of them since the day I graduated high school, and even then it was fleeting. Meaningless. The situation I had worked out with my school wasn't too bad, until I graduated college as well- then I was left with no job, no housing, no friends and no money. I was about to go crawling back to South Park, when I randomly met Token in a deli I happened to stop at while I was on the road. That's when he offered me a job as his personal assistant on tour with the band he manages, which would have solved literally every problem I had at the time. I'd have been an idiot to say no, and thank fuck I didn't. Token and I were friends through elementary school and high school, but I kind of dropped off the face of the earth after I left town. I had to leave everything behind- my phone, my laptop, my clothes... My everything. With that went all my friends.

And, who could've guessed I'd be lucky enough that the band that Token happened to manage was Holocene, one that was showing up everywhere lately. It also happened to be made up of all my other friends from South Park: Clyde Donovan, Stan Marsh, Kenny McCormick, and Eric Cartman. Well, I wouldn't call Cartman my friend; he kind of bullied me throughout grade school, but he did that to everyone. Not only that, but Kyle Broflovski is their stage director, and Butters Stotch handles sound management. And there's one more person in the band itself, the one I've been staring at all day while assisting Token while the band was doing sound checks and rehearsals.

Craig Tucker.

Luckily, Token has kept me busy enough that I haven't had to actually talk to any of them, let alone Craig. Like I said, it's my first day, and I'm not entirely sure I want to talk to them yet. They've been at this for three years or so now, and this is the first tour I've been on; there's bound to be questions, questions that I'd rather not answer right now. Or ever. Never answering them would be best, but I know I'll have to do it eventually. I'm not even sure if they know I'm here, though I'm sure Token would have told them by now. I just know that they're busy enough that no one has come looking for me yet. My plan is to avoid them for as long as I can and cross the bridge when I get to it.

I jog back toward the trailer that everyone calls the office, which is set up alongside all the busses and vans we need for carting all our equipment back and forth between shows. There's two busses for the band, two busses for the crew, one large truck for the equipment and the office trailer. I knock once before I walk in, holding my folder between my lips as I balance the muffins and coffees in one hand to open the door.

That's when I notice there's more than one voice coming from the back. In fact, there's a few voices. And I still recognize every single one of them, too. A cold panic washes over my body as the door swings shut behind me, knocking me a few steps inside. The voices slow to a stop for a beat before I see four pairs of eyes turn to me, and I feel the panic take hold of my chest with an iron grip.

"Sweet, you're back." Token says warmly, standing up from his desk and pulling up the sleeves of his mustard colored cashmere sweater as he takes a few steps towards me. They're all staring at me with a mix of confusion and anger, though I think that the anger isn't really directed at me; they seemed pretty heated when I got in here. I say nothing, dumbly staring back at the other three people as Token strides over, like there's nothing wrong. He removes the tray of coffees from my grip and eyes the papers still between my teeth, his eyes glazing over them quickly. "And you remembered to grab the forms from Jasmine, perfect." He adds, taking those as well. Without anything left to do, I force myself to look down at my shoes, my stomach doing flips.

I know these people. I'd remember them in a hundred years, when we're all old and crusty and decrepit. No matter what, I always seem to remember people.

Token walks back over them with a glance at me over his shoulder, gesturing for me to follow him. Wringing my hands, I reluctantly join him at the desk, my eyes down the whole time. His desk is at the very back of the trailer, overflowing with things but impeccably neat. There's a small desk running perpendicularly to his, which he has told me is mine. I haven't had a chance to put anything on it that he hasn't given me- so it's pretty bare.

God, i could recognize these people from a thousand miles away. They look pretty good, more grown up in a lot of ways. Kyle's frizzy hair isn't hidden under a green hat any longer. He wears it longer on top than he used to, and his curls are now controlled and styled by what seems like a lot of gel. He's wearing a crisp set of dark blue jeans and soft leather shoes, with a pale green button-down shirt. He seemed to grow into his frame, filled out a little bit- in high school he looked a lot like me, though he was kind of short. The person standing beside him, Stan Marsh, doesn't look to bad either. While he still wears his hat his hair is no longer visible from under it; in school he wore it pretty long, almost to his shoulders. He seems to have filled out as well. Actually, he's more than filled out. He's outright buff, and there's a little bit of stubble on his chin. He's in a plain t-shirt and jeans, with worn out vans on his feet. A few tattoos peak out from under his sweatshirt, which he's rolled to his elbows. Where Kyle is sharp and pointed, Stan is soft and rounded. They're like perfect opposites, but they never go anywhere without each other. And Cartman- Jesus Christ, where the hell do I start. It looks like he got taller, and with that got fatter as well. The acne that dotted his face in school is now gone, and the hat he used to wear is absent as well. His hair is shaggy and unkempt, but clean, just like the clothes he's wearing. I blink at where he's lounged on the couch we keep in here, his legs stretched over it like he owns the place He's stuffing barbecue chips into his mouth, and there's crumbs on his chest below the bag. He doesn't seem to mind.

They all eye me suspiciously as I walk past them, my eyes on the ground. I slide into the leather seat beside Token, setting my messenger bag beside me in silence. Token does the same, taking a sip of his latte before returning his attention to the other three people in the trailer, quirking an eyebrow at them.

"Now, Kyle, What were you yelling about?" Kyle folds his arms over his chest and sinks into his right hip, rolling his eyes to the ceiling.

"I wasn't yelling. I was just talking strongly about how Eric keeps-"

"It's _Cartman_ to you, Jew," the brunette pipes up from the couch, glaring at the redhead.

" _Eric_ ," Kyle hisses at him, leaning over. "Won't listen to anything I say. He does the opposite, in fact. I'm the stage director, he has to listen to me for a fucking reason. I'm not just there.."

While they continue speaking i pull my new laptop from my bag and set it down, trying to be as invisible as possible. Though, I feel a pair of eyes on me as I do so. When I look up I see Stan staring at me from over Kyle's shoulder, his expression unreadable. Something tells me he's just here because Kyle is, not because he has an issue of some kind. My eyes flicker back down to my hands and I fold them into my lap, swallowing the growing lump of nervousness in my throat.

There's a lull in the argument, and that when Stan decides to ruin my whole plan.

"Tweek..?" He asks softly, his eyebrows crinkled and a hand pressed thoughtfully into his chin. I tense, and feel everyone's eyes shift back to me. Token clears his throat.

"Uh, yeah. He's my assistant now." Token tells them, glancing over at me. Traitor. He knew my plan from the start. I didn't really tell him, but.. By the way I had acted when he mentioned everyone from South Park I would've thought he wouldn't say anything to anyone. I doubt they actually remember much of me, anyway. I was always pretty invisible, always attached to Craig's side like the little leech I was.

"Oh, sweet dude!" Stan says excitedly, a huge grin stretching over his face. "You were so much fun in school. Where the hell did you disappear to?"

"Oh, you're that twitchy kid, right? Dad owned the coffee shop, mom was the resident crazy?" Cartman asks, the tone in his voice suggesting that he doesn't want an answer. I narrow my eyes slightly at him and press my lips into a thin line, though it clearly goes unnoticed. He spreads the bags of chips with two fingers and peers inside, dumping the crumbs into his mouth before crumpling the bag and tossing it towards the trash can beside my desk. I yelp and jump up, skittering to stand behind Token. Cartman smirks. "Yep, just as jumpy as I remember." Stan swats at his shoulder, narrowing his eyes before returning to me with a warm grin. It puts me at ease a little bit, knowing that someone other than Token has my back here. Stan was always that person in the grade, looking out for everyone and stuff like that. I give him a timid grin, adjusting my glasses a bit out of nervous habit.

"Don't be such an asshole, Cartman. And don't distract Token from the issue at hand." Kyle says, his voice severe as he takes a step closer to Token's desk. "He needs so stop being so disruptive during rehearsals, dude. He's messing everyone up. And we're on a tight schedule today. We have another sound check at two then rehearsal at three, not to mention the meet and greet. It begins at five, and people are already lining up for it." Kyle shifts his attention to me and I shrink back slightly, wringing my hands together under his gaze. "While it's awesome to see you again, Tweek, right now isn't the best time to reminisce."

I shake my head and hold up my hands. "N-Not a problem. Get on with what you have to do, d-don't let me stop you." Kyle's face transforms, a bright smile replacing the almost pouty frown he was wearing moments before.

"Finally, someone who agrees with me." He says triumphantly, turning on his heel and heading for the door. Stan automatically follows, giving me a wave and a declaration that we have to hang out after the show ends. Cartman begrudgingly shoves off the couch as well, but Token stops him before he can go anywhere.

"Tweek, can you do me a favor?" Token asks, leaning back in his seat to look up at me. He rummages through a door in his desk for a moment before producing a stack of papers contained in an orange manila folder, holding them out for me. "I need you to run these to the security office, it should be just inside the stage B door. They need to sign them to confirm that each meet and greet will be full security events. Make absolutely sure they know there's one today, two tomorrow and one more on Friday." He says, slowly and carefully. I make sure to absorb what he says, holding the stack to my chest. He smiles before turning back to Cartman, his expression tired. I leave before I can hear what they're saying.

Once I'm outside in the cool air I can feel my chest unravel, and I can breathe once more. God, this is going to be way worse than I thought, isn't it? I should've known; I'm usually wrong about things like this. I knew it wasn't going to be a walk in the park, seeing everyone again, but I seriously felt like I was going to implode or something in there. Starting down the stairs, I scan the parking lot before actually going anywhere, not wanting to unexpectedly run into anyone else. I just hope no one is just out wandering around like I was. It seemed like Kyle had them on a pretty tight schedule, but mishaps happen. Just like this- I had no fucking idea they'd be in there when I got back. I probably would've hid until they left or something, watched the trailer from a safe distance or just walked back to linger at the snack table.

I know it's bad that I don't want to see them, but I'm not ready to. I've had bad anxiety for as long as I can remember, since I was a little kid. Plus, I'm prone to panic attacks which stemmed from my anxiety and developed into a complete panic disorder, not to mention all the other things that were probably wrong with me but went undiagnosed. And it was all made worse by my parents, who gave me coffee constantly as a kid. I try to stay away from the stuff as much as I can, by drinking tea and chewing gum and stuff, but it's like a drug to me. In fact, I'm going to grab myself a cup right now to calm the hell down.

Tucking Token's folder under my arm, I walk back towards the snack table and prepare myself a piping cup of black coffee before heading towards the back door of stage B, finding the security office rather easily. I tell her everything Token told me to, and the head of security takes them back to her desk cheerily. I linger in the doorway as she reads over the papers and signs them for me, looking around the room and sipping from my coffee cup as I lose myself in thought.

It's nice to be back on my feet a little bit, to have a semi-clear path laid out in front of me. Lately my future has been very hazy and unsure, and I hate feeling like that. It was easier for me when I was in school, mostly because of how structured everything was. I woke up, went to school, came home. It's jarring to do something your whole life only to wake up and have it gone one day.

It's happened to me more than once, and it's less and less fun each time it happens.

This job means more to me than anyone could know. It's given my life a structure once again, and because I'm working with Token he makes everything easy for me. It's given my life somewhere to go and it gives me something to do, something to look forward to. Not to mention the fact that I'll get to see the country. I've never really been out of Colorado my whole life; my family didn't go on vacations, and I've never had a reason to go anywhere else. Im excited to see where else we're going to go.

The head of security is done in a few minutes and hands me back the stack of paperwork with a smile, reassuring me that everything Token requested will happen without a hitch. I thank her before heading back for the trailer, passing Cartman on the way. He thankfully says nothing; I'm not even positive he saw me, which is a relief in itself. He's the one I've wanted to avoid the most. He's not the nicest person to begin with, and he's always picked on me. Well, everyone kind of picked on me when I was younger. I was more of a basket case then, believe it or not. I just to pull chunks of hair out my my head, I couldn't dress myself for the life of me, and I twitched so much I was almost vibrating; I'd make fun of me, too. But Cartman always took it to a different level than everyone else around me, and I couldn't really do anything to stop him.

In all honesty, the rest of the guys weren't get so bad to me. I'd consider them my friends, and I like to think that they did to; and I'm probably not wrong, considering how warmly Stan greeted me when he saw me. I'm just... I'm not ready to let them back in yet. I'm not really ready to let anyone in, at the moment. I've been through a lot lately, and i don't really want to drag up new memories by having them fawn all over me. They'll definitely have questions, and it's totally fair for them to want to question why I dropped off the face of the fucking earth for nearly five years. I mean, I vanished the day after graduation. Well, I guess it's considered the night of my graduation, really.

And, no one came looking for me anyway.

For a little while I thought that it was a good thing that I left without a trace that night, like I was off the hook and I wouldn't have to come back. But then weeks became months, and nothing ever came of my old friends. No letters, no calls, nothing. They knew what college I was going to- it probably wouldn't have been that hard to find me. I was lonely, and it's not like I'm very good at making friends in the first place. It's one of the many, many reasons i don't really want to speak to them right now. it was especially hard for me to sever ties with Craig, who I was really close to at the time. He knew the basics of my plan; though, he didn't know that I'd leave the night of graduation. I told him the bare bones, and he understood. I would've thought at least he would talk to me, and when he didn't for so long.. I thought he'd forgotten about me. Who would want to talk to someone after thinking like that?

Shaking my thoughts from my mind, I head back to Token's office and place the papers on his desk with a smile, sliding into my seat beside his desk. The rest of the day passes in much the same way, with me running errands and following Token around, grabbing him snacks and running from bus to concert center most of the day. And, of course, ducking behind plants, doorways and cars when I see someone I think could be one of my old friends. The meet and greet rolls around quickly, and just before everyone files into the room Token tells me i can take a break.

"I won't need you until six or so. I'll just be here with Kyle and the guys. Go grab some dinner or something." He says, giving me a warm smile. I visibly relax, giving him a curt nod before starting towards the door. He stops me suddenly by grabbing my elbow, and I automatically flinch and freeze in my spot. I can tell he noticed, but he seems to blow right past it. "Just so you know, you don't have to act so weird around me. It's okay, dude. I won't ask about the last few years, I can tell tat you don't really wanna talk about it, but we can pick up where we left off if that's what you want."

I pull in a deep breath, staring at him with wide eyes. No one has really said that to me in.. In a while. The last few years have been so turbulent I feel like I'm invisible. I mean, I've felt like that forever, it's not very new to me. I've just never been so crushingly lonely before in my whole life. Spending time alone is great, as long as you know there's a group of people a phone call away if you don't feel like being alone anymore. That was the huge difference between South Park and the outside world: I had never been so lonely before. Growing up in a small town made me take the people around me for granted, because I thought that I would always have that. While I had it for a little while at my school, it never felt the same as when I was at home; i felt like no one really knew me like my friends did. I guess I'd gotten so used to being alone that i forgot how much I liked being a part of something.

"T-Thanks, Token. That really means a lot.." I say, rubbing the back of my neck. Token just smiles warmly at me, shooing me out of the room with a wave of his hand. I make my way out of the venue once more, taking a deep breath of the crisp Colorado air. There are posters of the band plastered everywhere. In a week, there will be another band plastered all over these walls, and the next week will bring someone else, and so on and so forth. It's strange to me how life can just move on like that, that it keeps going no matter what's happening around people. I stop to look at one of the posters, glancing from one familiar face to the next.

They're all thrown together with their various instruments, smiling widely at the camera with their arms around each other with such a familiarity it makes my chest ache. I feel like I missed out on so much with them. They're pretty much strangers to me, at this point. I snap out of it when my eyes land on Craig. God, he's the last person I want to see right now. We were the closest out of anyone else, after some stupid shit in our town kind of threw us together by accident. Not to mention the fact that we dated for a while; in fact, he's the only person I've ever really dated. At the time, it was the same for him. I doubt that's still true. I chew on my lip as I look at his picture, wringing my fingers together. He looks so... grown up. Confident, self-assured, cool. Everything he wasn't in high school. His hair is styled nicely, kind of long and curly on top but short on the sides. While he isn't beaming like everyone else, he's kind of smirking at the camera, one arm slung casually around Stan's shoulders as the other one leans on his navy blue bass guitar. He's dressed in dark jeans and a NASA tank top, wearing worn-out yellow converse sneakers and a leather jacket. His signature hat is atop his head, pulled back to let his hair flop out over his forehead. He looks like an adult, like someone who's got his life perfectly on track. Like it's going exactly how he wants it.

It's definitely not the Craig I knew.

I scowl at his picture, a lump welling in my throat. A sudden rush of anger washes over me and I stomp away from the wall of posters like a little kid, my hands balling into fists at my sides. God. I hate this. Maybe this wasn't a great idea, to work with all the people I grew up with. But it's the only idea I have, so I guess I'll have to get used to it.

I make it out of the venue and walk into a little town, strolling down Main Street as I fold my arms over my chest, trying to let the scenery calm me down a bit. I'm just getting in my own head, psyching myself out. I do that all the time, and it's actually one of the reasons I've had such a shitty few years. I know that this will turn out okay. I know that I need this job, and I know it'll be good for me to have.

It's not that I'm jealous of my friends, or that I'm not happy that they're successful or anything like that. I'm really proud of them, actually. They talked about doing something like this together for years, always talked about becoming famous and successful together when they were adults. I talked about it with them. My plan... Well, they were my plan. Everything in my life got swept out from under me one day, totally out of the blue. It's not that I'm not happy for them. I just wish that I got to be a part of this, of their future.

Pulling in a deep breath I duck into a diner to my right, figuring that I'll have the best luck with finding something I like in a place like this. It's small inside, warmly decorated with vintage posters and neon signs. Looking around, I catch a few glimpses of band merchandise scattered through the dining room, cotton shirts with my friends' faces smiling back at me. It's the same picture that was lining the walls of the venue. Lovely. The waitress comes to take my order and bring me water, asking if I'm waiting for anyone or something like that. I quietly say no and give her my order, and my food is in front of me before I know it. All the while I'm compulsively checking my watch, worried that I'll be late and make Token upset or something. I've always been like this, always imagining how things can go wrong. Some therapist that I used to see while I was in school told me how to handle situations like this one, where I'm making myself more panicked than I need to be: just imagine the worst case and the best case. If I can handle the worst, I'll be okay. If I imagine the best, I alleviate myself of some of the panic. While both options are equally as likely to happen, I can always try to trick myself into making the best one possible.

As it gets closer and closer to six o'clock I finish eating and head back to the studio, where a bunch of fans are lining up now as well. Flashing the security guard my name badge, they let me through without a problem and I find Token where I left him, in the meet and greet room.

"Ah, perfect, you're right on time." He says warmly, giving me a bright smile. A twitch of a grin forms on my lips and I shrug, rubbing the back of his neck. "This is around the time I'd take a seat in the control box upstairs to oversee the show, but I'm pretty confident in my replacement for tonight, so I was wondering if you'd want to watch the show with me, from the wings behind stage." He offers, laughing when I quirk an eyebrow. "My girlfriend is in town, and I asked her to help out tonight so you can see the show."

"O-Oh, no, that's okay. You don't have to go through the trouble for me-" I start, holding my hands up and shaking my head. I'm not sure I could handle being so close to them all right now.

"Don't be silly! Wendy's got it down, she's been with me since we had the idea years ago. She's probably more capable than I am at this point." Token says, guiding me out of the room and towards the stage door. I pull in a deep breath, my heart pounding in my chest. "We get the best seats in the house; right off stage left, they set us up with some chairs and snacks and stuff. C'mon, don't stand me up." How could I not have seen that coming..? Not to mention the fact that he's dating Wendy fucking Testaburger on top of it all. If you don't know, she was the shit in high school. She was the first girl to get onto the baseball team, captain of the debate team, school president, track team captain... Pretty much everything else I can think of, too. And she was the best person ever while doing it all; it makes sense that Token trusts her enough to have her help him with the managing of a now million dollar band.

"..okay, I guess that would be alright." I mumble, picking at the seams of my sweater. Token beams at me as his phone dings loudly in his pocket, holding his finger up in my direction as he hurries to answer it. I let go of the breath I didn't know I was holding as he walks away from me, my eyebrows pulling together in concern. Like I had said before, I don't know if I want to see my friends on stage tonight. Everyone says that their concerts are legendary, that their music sounds so much better in person. I'm just...I'm not sure if I can handle it.

Well, I'm not sure if I can handle Craig. Handling all of my other friends on stage is one thing, but seeing Craig up there might totally break me. And it's a combination of so many feelings that I'm having trouble discerning one from the other.

Of course, I'm proud of him for what he's become, what he's been able to do with his life and how well he's able to do it. So many bands have the same amount of talent and dream just as big as my friends did, but not too many of them actually make something of themselves. But Craig managed to.

I'm also embarrassed. Not of him, but of myself. My life was supposed to go so differently then it did. I was going to go to Hollywood, become an actor and make it big with a couple of films. Or I was going to go to Broadway, be the next big Broadway starlet. But.. I didn't. I fucked up, I got fucked over, and now I'm here. With one cup of ramen in my closet, a rotten apple in my fridge and one pair of sneakers to my name. I look down at my forest green converse, warily noticing that the lining is coming apart from the right side on my left shoe. Feeling self conscious I tuck my feel closer to the wall, rubbing the back of my neck.

I guess I'm nervous to see them, but I'm also nervous for them to see me.


	2. Chapter 2

Busted and Blue

Chapter 2: Throwing Shit Around Won't Get You Anywhere

Chapter Track: I'll Be Good - Jaymes Young

The concert begins quicker than I would have liked it to, with people buzzing around me and music blasting in my ears. Even once everything is up and running, the anxiety never leaves me- or the people around me, for that matter. Apparently there's a lot more going on behind the scenes than I would've realized. Then again, a concert is a lot like a play- at least is is in my mind. I've been a theater kid since I was eight or nine years old, and it has a lot to do with Craig, actually. But, I don't really wanna talk about that right now; it was a huge part of my life, something that I don't do anymore.

If you couldn't tell, it's a bit of a sore spot.

But, thankfully, the concert seems to be going pretty well. The band doesn't lip sync yet, which is always a plus. And I've learned that Kenny actually has a pretty good voice, when he sings backup anyway. But the one thing I haven't been able to take my eyes off is Craig. He looks almost... Magical. Like there's nowhere else in the world he was meant to be, like he was born to be on stage. And he totally was. When we were growing up, he was always behind the curtain, never wanting to be seen. He was usually stage crew in our school productions, but I think he really did it to hang out more with me.

And I'm not tooting my own horn or anything like that. I did the same thing, joining sports like baseball or basketball just so I would have an excuse for being at the practices and stuff. I was good enough in basketball, but Jesus, I sucked at baseball. I've broken so many bones playing baseball cause I'd always get hit with the ball or fall trying to catch the ball, and I was always benched once we got to high school. It never mattered, though, cause I knew I'd be spending time with Craig. I guess that's why I didn't really do much my first semester of college; it was my first year ever without Craig doing all the things with me. And I couldn't even talk to him.

The next song snaps me out of my thoughts and brings my attention back to the stage, the slow plucks of an unseen acoustic guitar making the audience go silent. It's a slower song, and none of the other band members seem to be moving or doing anything yet; this is solely Craig. A light shines warmly on him from the row of hundreds of lights on the ceiling above him, highlighting his position on the side of the stage closest to me. The buckles and studs on his leather jacket shine like diamonds, and his gray eyes are almost glowing. He tucks his bass under his arm and positions it so its resting on his back, taking the microphone into both hands before he starts to sing.

It makes all the breath go from my lungs, and it feels like my heart stops.

"I thought I saw the devil, this morning," Craig croons, his voice echoing out over the near-silent arena before him as his eyes fall closed. His face remains blank, but the emotion in his voice is clear: he wrote this song. "Looking in the mirror- drop of rum on my tongue. With a warning.. To help me see myself clearer."

I can feel a lump welling in my throat as his voice falls over my ears, my eyes already starting to sting with tears. I know what this is about. I know exactly what he's saying.

"I never meant to start a fire.. I never meant to make you bleed.. I'll be a better man today." His voice is immaculate, polished and perfect as it blankets the entire concert hall. "I'll be good, I'll be good. And I'll love the world like I should.. Yeah, I'll be good, I'll be good. For all of the times.. That I never could.

"My past has tasted bitter, for years now. So I wield an iron fist, grace is just weakness- or so I've been told. I've been cold, I've been merciless. But the blood on my hands, scares me to death. Maybe I'm waking up, today..

"I'll be good, I'll be good. And I'll love the world like I should. I'll be good, I'll be good.. For all of the light that I shut out, for all of the innocent things that I doubt. For all of the bruises I've caused and the tears.. For all of the things that I've done... All these years!

"Yeah for all of the sparks that I've stomped out, for all of the perfect things that I doubt.. I'll be good, I'll be good. And I'll love the world like i should. I'll be good, I'll be good- for all of the times.. I never could.."

I stand up suddenly, nearly knocking over my folding chair and spilling the drink beside my feet. Token calls after me as I turn on my heel, my nails digging into the palms of my hands as I feel my chest constrict. Craig's haunting voice chases me as I push through people, trying to get out. I need to get out. I need to find a bathroom, or a green room, or… or anything. I can't be in this fucking arena anymore.

Finally, I burst out a stage door into a fenced off square of parking lot, beside the dumpsters. My breath is ragged as I pull my hands through my hair, hoping to god no one finds me out here. I can't take this. I can't do this. I don't know what the hell I was thinking. This was a terrible idea, this was the worst idea I've ever had in my entire life. I knew I wouldn't be able to handle seeing Craig again. I can feel the panic rising in my chest, bubbling up like black tar and rooting me in my place. I feel like a chicken without a head, pacing in little circles as I try my hardest to get my breathing under control.

That song was about me. He wrote a goddamn song about me. More precisely, about me leaving. About how he felt like he drove me away, about how he feels responsible. I wrap my arms around my middle, crouching on the balls of my feet against the side of the building and hanging my head between my knees. When we were kids, he'd get himself into trouble all the time at school. Like, a lot. It wasn't rare to see him out in front of the counselor's office. Whenever I'd see him out there, I'd ask him why he couldn't be good. Why couldn't he just be a good kid..? I'm starting to see spots around the corners of my vision, my chest painfully tight as my breath comes to me in gasps. We used to talk with walkie-talkies before we had phones, and that's how we'd sign off. He'd always try to assure me that he wouldn't get in trouble, that he'd be good.

I can still hear his eleven year old voice in my ear, like he was right beside me. Like this is all still happening to us. "I'll be good tomorrow. Don't worry. Night, Tweek, over and out."

Craig wrote a song about me.

Craig wrote a song about how I left.

Craig wrote a song about how much I hurt him when I left.

Craig fucking performed a song about how much I hurt him when I left him, when I left everyone.

Craig fucking thinks it's all his fault.

I beat my fists against the side of my head, squeezing my eyes shut and shaking my head, muttering under my breath. I can't breathe. I can't think. The air around me pulses and the arena thumps with sound, though I can't make anything out anymore.

Craig still thinks about me. Craig still cares about me.

I'm spiraling, and I totally know it. I'm having a panic attack; the worst one I've had in a while, actually. There's nothing I can do to help myself. There's no one I can go to, no one who would care enough to help me. The only person who would is on stage right now, singing about how much of an asshole I am.

I need to go. I need to get out of here. I shake my head between my knees, unable to move.

Okay. I need to stop. I need to concentrate on.. On something. Anything. How cold it is. How the cold air seeps into my sweater and sinks into my skin, how the breeze chills through my bones and numbs my fingers. How I wish I would've grabbed my jacket, how useful my favorite pair of gloves would be right now. Anything. Anything other than this.

I don't know how much time passes before I'm able to stand up. I force myself to breathe, pulling the frigid air into my lungs. More time passes, and I'm shivering so badly I can barely pull the stage door open. A gust of warm air greets me once I'm back inside, and the music around me has changed back to its regular upbeat tune. Slowly, I find my way back to Token, apologizing and making up an excuse about being too hot. He eyes me suspiciously but says nothing, clapping and cheering as the song ends.

Jesus. I haven't let myself get that bad in a while. I've had to deal with things like that since I was a kid, so I've gotten pretty okay at spotting the signs and helping myself. This time, though, it came on so quickly. I've never spiraled like that.

Then again, i always had Craig to help me through those episodes as a kid.

It was hard for me to learn to live without Craig. He was a big part of my life for a long time- maybe too long. It was rare to see one of us without the other, like we were a matching pair. Maybe we were too close, I don't know. But it really sucked, for a long time. It's like I had to learn how to live again; I had to learn to live on my own, without Craig having anything to do with me.

This is all so crazy. Knowing that Craig still thinks about me is absolutely insane. And that's coming from me! I've been the resident crazy kid my whole life! I just.. I can hardly believe it. It's been so long, and I was always torn about how I wanted Craig to treat my absence. I was always split right down the middle, my mind going around and around in circles arguing with myself about it. On one hand, I wanted him to move on. I wanted him to blow right past me and forget, to find someone else to be happy with. To be happy without relying so heavily on that someone, I wanted him to learn to live on his own. It's better for him that way, more healthy. But, on the other hand, I never wanted him to forget me. I wanted him to miss me. I wanted him to walk around town and see all the places we used to hang out and feel sad. As selfish as it is, I wanted him to never stop loving me like I never stopped loving him. I know how horrible that is but... I just can't let go of him.

Not yet.

The concert ends fairly quickly after my freak out, the crowd screaming and yelling and chanting as the band runs off the stage- thankfully, on the other side. Token turns to me with a smile so bright it could combat the stage lighting, quirking an eyebrow at me expectantly.

"Well?" He asks excitedly, clapping his hands together as people start to swarm around us once more. "What did you think?"

"Jeez, T-Token, what can I say..?" I start quietly, rubbing the back of my neck. Of course I loved it. Of course I loved seeing my friends on stage, doing what they love and being happy. And the music wasn't half bad either. "It was totally a-amazing, like n-nothing I've ever seen." I finish, wringing my fingers together.

"Awesome!" Token exclaims, jumping into an explanation of their after-concert rituals. Kenny came up with it about a year into their touring rounds, when they were still performing covers in bars and comedy clubs. The whole crew heads back to the busses or the hotel for a round of drinks, and they celebrate with a party for a job well done. Apparently, the band does this pretty much after every show, but the first night is usually the best. If the show goes off without a hitch, Token treats them all to the party; he buys out the club nearby for the night and let's everyone go crazy. Naturally, Token invites me along, saying that I must be good luck or something. The first night hasn't gone so well in weeks. And since I can't think of a good reason to get myself out of it, I agree to tag along, if only for a little while.

We finish everything up at the venue, including the mini meet-and-greet after the show and getting all the proper arrangements for tomorrow's shows. It moves too quickly, and I find myself scurrying around Token like a chicken without a head to get it all done. Then we make our way to the hotel down the street in the busses, which is a production in and of itself; a lot of fans wait after the show for the band to come out, and it took nearly a half hour for security to get them all in line so no one would get hurt.

When we finally get to the bar I decide something: I want to get drunk. I want to get so drunk that I forget about everything. About this job, about my stupid parents, about this band, about stupid Craig and his stupid beautiful song and his stupid everything. Everything has to go. I don't care if I have work tomorrow- everyone else here does too, and they all seem to have the same thing on their minds. Tugging nervously on the hem of my sweater I walk up to the bar and order my favorite drink, a White Russian; they taste like chocolate milk, so I can toss them back quickly, but the vodka in them always gets me. The music around me is pulsing and the lights are flashing as the bartender passes me my drink, and the rest of the crew files in through the front doors of the hotel bar.

"I haven't seen one of those bad boys in years," A voice says from beside me, making me jump a bit. I'm met with a gap-toothed smile and a pair of warm blue eyes, Kenny McCormick's arms stretched expectantly towards me. A soft laugh falls from my lips and I lean forward in my seat to hug him, squeezing him against my chest. Out of everyone else, I'm least dread-filled to see Kenny, and Stan was a close second. I feel like Kenny would get my situation best, that he'd be the last person to make fun of me for it because he lived like I had to for most of his life. He's dressed well, but casually. His jeans are dark and rip-free, and his brown Vans sneakers are new. He's wearing a worn out jean jacket, with iron-on patches lovingly sewn on all over his back. "Still like White Russians, huh? Never could get you hooked on anything else."

"Shut up, Kenny. You know I've always hated the taste of that stuff. " I say, gesturing to the beer in his hand as he hops onto the barstool beside me. I let go of a shaky breath before taking a long sip, earning a quirked eyebrow from Kenny. He stares for a moment before taking a sip from his own drink, raising the bottle to his lips.

"So, you know I gotta ask," He starts, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and waving around the bottle as he speaks. "What the hell happened to you, dude? You totally dropped off the face of the earth, no one could find you. Then you suddenly show up here with Token, saying nothing to any of us.. Are you okay?" He lowers his voice at the last few words, his eyes boring holes into my own. I sigh, twisting my body to gently set down the glass on the bar behind me.

"Kenny.. I-I don't really like talking about it.." I say, swallowing thickly. Talking brings up memories, and memories bring up feelings. Very unwanted feelings, actually. "I'll tell you about it e-eventually, but n-not right now.. I'm okay, n-now at least." Kenny says nothing for a while, trying to process what I'd just told him.

"And Craig..?" He asks softly, scratching the back of his neck. I purse my lips, looking shamefully down at my lap.

"H-Haven't even seen him yet." I mutter, glancing back up at him. Kenny's eyes widen slightly upon hearing this and he stares at me for another long while before nodding slowly, pulling a deep breath in through his nose and blowing out through his lips. I feel a knot unwind deep inside me, and I'm able to relax a bit more. Kenny's always had a way with people, especially crazy people; and since we come from similar households, there was always this weirdly unspoken bond between us.

"Alright then, Tweekers. If you say so." The blonde says, holding up his beer in a toast. I roll my eyes, at both the gesture and the nickname. "Why don't we get you out here, on the floor? You were always the best drunk dancer, and you look like you could use it tonight." I stare at him for a moment, trying to decide what to do. Maybe it's a good idea; I did say that I wanted to forget about everything...

"Fine. Throw whatever you can at me, McCormick. I can take it." At this, Kenny's face splits into an impish smile and he orders us another round of drinks as I polish off my own. I've always been a bit of a lightweight, so by the end of this drink alone I'm feeling a bit better about the situation. I start to feel warm and fuzzy, the edges of my mind starting to blur.

Kenny passes me drink after drink, laughing and telling me stories about the band; save the stories about Craig, which I've asked him to leave out. I hate it here. It's new, and I feel like I don't know anyone, and I feel like I'm alone. But being with Kenny for a little while has made me remember what it's like to have a friend- a real friend. Everyone I've met recently are superficial, and I feel like I can't trust them. I never opened up much to them. But with the people I grew up with... It's like putting on your favorite sweater after washing it for the first time in a while. And Kenny is so animated and fun, it makes me feel like I'm seventeen again, before all this shitty stuff happened. Within about a half hour, at least I think it's a half hour, I can't really tell anymore, Kenny has me properly drunk.

I'm on the dance floor suddenly, and I'm swaying to the beat with my arms above my head. The whole club pulses around me to the beat of some techno song, the lights flashing and wavering and changing color. The crowd moves by me in a sea of unfamiliar faces and voices, the patrons all varying levels of drunk; Kenny and I seem to be in the high-middle of the drunk scale at the moment. Kenny always had a better tolerance than me, but he was doing way harder shots. This doesn't seem to be going too bad. I'm actually starting to enjoy myself. Then someone shouts my name and I'm greeted by a bunch of my other friends from South Park- Token and Stan seem to have gathered a majority of them from around the club to say hi. The only ones missing are Kyle, Cartman and Craig.

I feel like I need to be drunker.

I smile, but it feels stretched and forced. Stan catches me when I stumble, holding me up on his arm. I laugh and dig the heel of my hand into my eye, pushing up my glasses. "Hah, s-sorry.. I don't.. I-I wasn't expecting.." I trail off, not really making any sense. Though, it seems like the guys are a little drunk themselves. Stan laughs loudly and pulls me into a tight bear-hug, and I can smell whiskey on his breath.

"Don't worry about it," He says warmly as he lets me go, passing me onto the next person. Clyde appears beside him, looking more drunk than anyone here.

"Tweek, you sly bastard," He slurs, pulling me under his arm and digging his knuckles into my skull. I wrench myself out of the noogie and catch him when he stumbles, and we both laugh a little too loud and for a little too long. Clyde was always pretty good with handling me too; he was almost like a nicer version of Craig. They were really close. "You've been avoiding meee~"

"M-Maybe.." I mutter, slinging an arm around his shoulders. We tap glasses and then I'm on the dance floor again, this time surrounded by my friends. For a split second I could swear I'm back in South Park, in Token's basement on a Friday night. I stumble against the people around me, laughing as I sway my hips in time with Wendy's. Another round of drinks passes by us on a platter and when I take some it sloshes onto my jeans, making me curse before I tip it back.

I'm suddenly off the dance floor, my feet moving on their own accord towards the bar. I don't like whatever I have in my hand- it looks like tequila. I hate tequila. It makes me want to strip naked. Leaning heavily against the bar I order another White Russian, letting my eyes fall closed as I bob my head to the music.

..I feel like someone's staring at me. Squinting, I warily turn around, trying to get my vision to focus enough for me to properly look through the crowd. When I finally see, I wish I hadn't ever even looked.

I see Craig staring at me from across the room- his expression unreadable, his eyes dark, and his lips pressed into a thin line. I feel all the blood drain out of my face, and my stomach drops to my feet. Maybe I shouldn't have had so much to drink. Craig is right next to me suddenly, but I'm not sure which of us moved. The floor feels like jelly, my whole body trembling as I finally get a good look at him.

He's never been more amazing.

He's saying something. I'm watching his lips move, but I don't know what he's saying. I feel dumb and bloated, and my mind is moving too slow to make sense of anything. I press my hand to my forehead and open my mouth to reply to him when he throws his drink into my face, stunning me enough that I fall flat on my ass in the middle of the bar.

It feels like everything stops as Craig strides away angrily, throwing aside his cup as he shoves out of the bar. I want to get up, I want to chase him, but I can't get up. I twist my ankle when I try, hissing in pain as I sink back onto the floor. Tears sting at my eyes, but I'm not sure if it's from the pain. I pull my knees to my chest and rock back and forth for a moment, the lump in my throat welling bigger and bigger.

Angry, I shove myself off the floor and stride outside, looking around dumbly. But he's gone. I knew he'd be gone. He had no reason to wait. I want to go to my room. I don't want to be here anymore.

I realize quickly that I don't know how to get to my room. Finally, I let the tears spill over my cheeks and I pace around outside the entrance, hugging my arms around myself as I plop myself down on the sidewalk. The air outside stings my face and chills me to the bone, the drink all over me making me feel sticky and cold.

This was a bad idea. It seems that I'm pretty good at making those lately. I just feel heavy and sick instead of warm and airy, not to mention the fact that I just ruined everything I might have had with Craig.

So I cry.

I sit out in front of the hotel, alone and cold, and cry my eyes out. I haven't actually done this in a while, not since I first left home. I rock slightly as I sob into my knees, my mind replaying the whole situation. I never thought he'd be.. Mad. That mad, at least. He's never been that mad before, not at me. His face was all red, and it looked like he was going to cry. God, I almost made Craig cry. I sniff hard and dig my hands into my eyes, whining in the back of my throat. I feel like I'm the worst person alive; it's so hard to make Craig cry...

Someone walks out of the hotel and sits down beside me, sighing. "Hey, Tweek, it's okay." Kenny's voice makes me look up in surprise, and I wipe my nose clumsily on my sleeve before I answer. Kenny cringes at the sight.

"N-No, it's not.." I mumble, my voice squeaky and my words strung together. I inhale sharply, my chest heaving. I start to ramble, pulling my damp sweater away from my body over and over again as I speak. "I-I-I ruined it.. Whatever we had- o-or, used have.. to have.. I f-fucked it all up! I-I avoided h-him.. And h-he was so.. Angry! Ke-Kenny, he was angry.. A-at me! He never... He never got angry a-at me.. I'm his.. I'm who.. Jesus, I-i fucked everything up! I mu-made him c-cry, Kenny.." Kenny inches slightly closer to me and wraps an arm around my shoulders, his expression soft. Feeling alone and sad and drunk, I let it happen, wrapping my arms around his chest and burying my face in his shoulder.

I was never very good at making friends, and Kenny was the only exception to that rule. He was always really open and extroverted, and he kind of forced me into submission. Now, I'm glad he did stick around, that he tried harder than anyone else had. With Kenny, I feel less alone.

He sits quietly with me until i stop crying, rocking me back and forth as I sniffle. This must look absolutely pathetic. A skinny, bug-eyed freak sitting drunk off his ass and crying on the side of a busy Denver road, rocking back and forth as he rambles to a Good Samaritan who happened to find him.

"Okay, Tweek, I think this little pity party is over. You'll freeze if you sit out here any longer." Kenny says quietly, holding a hand out to help me up. I let him pull me to my feet, wrapping my arms around his waist and letting my head fall onto his shoulder as he walks me back inside. I didn't realize how cold and sticky I was until I started walking, and it makes my eyes well with tears all over again. Kenny grabs me a key card from the front desk as he signs me into my room, helping me upstairs. He offers to help me to bed but I refuse, pushing him out the door and reminding him that he has a party to return to.

"A-And tell Token that I-I'm sorry I left," I mumble, leaning against the door as he leaves. Kenny offers me a big smile and a pat on the shoulder, ruffling my hair.

"Don't worry about it, Tweekers. They won't mind. Just get a good nights sleep, okay?" I nod, softly clicking the door shut behind him. I stare at it for a moment, swaying slightly against the doorjamb.

I can't fucking believe what just happened. I don't know how long I'd been sitting on the sidewalk, but it must've been at least an hour or so because I can feel the drinks slowly but surely wearing off. I still feel drunk, but my mind is in a little bit less of a fog. God, my head hurts. And my eyes are all swollen and puffy from crying so much. That must've been a show. I scoff at myself and slog off towards the king sized bed in the center of the room, collapsing onto it immediately. My sweater sticks to my chest and smells like a mix between Jack Daniels and stale sweat, making my nose wrinkle in disgust. Instead of showering, I peel off my dirty clothes and cast them to the floor, curling up into the fluffy sheets.

This sucks. This whole situation sucks. The whole last five years of my life have sucked, so why did I think this would be any different..? Things never work out for me, I should've figured that out by now. I squeeze my eyes shut and will myself to fall asleep, drifting off to the distant pulsing music from the club downstairs.

Maybe tomorrow will be a little better; at least, I hope it will. I might actually have to tell Token that it isn't working out, which sucks on so many levels. Then again, what hasn't sucked lately?


	3. Chapter 3

Busted and Blue

Chapter 3: Haunted by the Ghost of You

Chapter Tracks: Dancing on My Own by Calum Scott and The Night We Met by Lord Huron

It feels like he can't breathe. Like the whole room as been sucked of oxygen and he's choking, his vision swimming as tears prick at his eyes. He shoves through the crowd before anyone can stop him- he just needs to get out of this goddamn room.

He needs to get away from Tweek.

Craig breaks out into the bright lobby, squinting at the sudden light as he chokes back a sob. He thought he was dead. He thought he was kidnapped, he thought he was hurt. But no. It turns out that he just needed to get away, like he said. Tweek never said he'd disappear like that, steal away in the middle of the night like a goddamn theif. Craig woke up the morning after graduation and texted him to see if he wanted to grab breakfast, only to receive no answer. At first it wasn't a big deal- Tweek was never very attached to his phone, and it wasn't uncommon for him to misplace it during the day. But when three o'clock rolled around and no one had seen him, it sent Craig into a total panic. Craig freaked and looked everywhere, even driving around to the neighboring towns to search for him. His house was trashed, shit laying around in the front yard and the lights all out- which was really uncommon for the Tweak residence. Mrs. Tweak liked to keep every light on almost constantly and she kept the house spotless, said it helped to keep her feeling sunny or something. And the police treated it like it was a joke; so the twitchy kid vanished, who's looking for him anyway? Craig seemed like he was the only one who was looking for him, the only one who cared that he was gone. Not even his mother seemed very worried- she just looked tired when he saw her around town, and she wouldn't speak to him at all. It just made Craig think of every bad thing that could have happened to him.

All of that panic was wasted. Tweek is fine- fine enough to get drunk off his ass with Kenny. Fuck, when Cartman mentioned something about him being back during rehearsals Craig didn't think that the asshole was serious. But he must be, because here he is. Clear as the day, and drunk as a skunk.

It made Craig so fucking angry.

When he walked up to him he was totally blind with rage, yelling and cursing. And Tweek just laughed. He fucking laughed. After everything Craig did to look for him. It tipped him over the edge, and he threw his drink in his stupid fucking face, storming out like a little kid.

And now he's here. Alone in his hotel room, trying not to.. Feel. He doesn't want to feel anything right now. He doesn't want to do anything, or feel anything, or see anyone.

That's a lie. He wants Tweek. Just like he's wanted him for the past five years.

The next morning I wake up feeling like death, in more ways than one. Physically, I'm totally fucked. Another thing I was blessed with in conjunction with my lightweight tendencies was hangovers of epic proportions, including a headache that lasts most of the day and terrible morning sickness. I barely even make it to the bathroom, throwing my guts up into the bath tub and wishing I was never born. My whole body aches and I smell like a cross between stale alcohol and BO, so when I finish retching and rinsing out the tub, I climb in for what's supposed to be a relaxing shower.

But I can't relax. The only thing I can think about is Craig's expression last night, in the bar. God, he's just as beautiful as I remember him. Even more so, actually. And the lights cast these perfect shadows over his face, and they were rippling and changing... First he was sky blue, then bright chartreuse-yellow, then a deep amber, then royal purple. I remember the look in his eyes, like someone just killed a Guinea Pig in front of him. He looked so hurt, so... Betrayed. I don't know how else to describe it. It looked like someone took him and ripped him all up, like he's a piece of paper, then tried to tape him back together and didn't do a very good job.

God, I think I was the one who ripped him up.

I groan and let my head fall against the shower wall, letting my thoughts swirl down the drain with the warm water after it hits my back. And I've got to do this all again tonight, and the night after that. Then we're on to the next town, to the next venue where the cycle will repeat. Jesus, I can't just keep avoiding Craig like this. Certainly not after last night. He deserves an apology, at least. I'm... I'm not exactly sure that I'm going to tell him about why I left without telling him, but..

It's a step in the right direction.

I smack the lever to shut off the water, digging the heels into my eyes to wake myself up. Jesus, I was stupid. It's a fucking Friday morning, what was I thinking? I have to work all day; I can't just curl up in a dark room and nurse my shitty hangover. I dry my hair with the hairdryer hanging from the wall beside the mirror (even though I know I already look like a crazy person. I don't want to be cold, okay?) and pull on my shirt, taking way longer than usual to button it. My hands always shake, they have since I was a kid, but it's made worse when there's anything else wrong with me; aka, a massive hangover headache. Then as I'm pulling on my sneakers I realize that it's almost twelve, and I have to get my ass downstairs to meet Token at the door. He whistles when I get closer and I wince at the sound, feeling it pierce through my skull. I know I still look like a corpse that someone forgot to bury; a shower can only do so much for a person like me after a night like that. Token passes me a muffin and I give him a breathy thanks, peeling the wrapper off and shoving it into my mouth.

"Kenny told me what happened last night." He says, his tone sympathetic. I wince once more at the vague and blurry memories that surface; I'm not sure I'll ever be able to live that down, no matter what happens with Craig going forward. Token's expression softens and he ushers me out the door, quickly hailing a cab for us as I shield my eyes from the blaring sunlight. "You know, if you talked to him you might be surprised. I don't think he's mad at you, dude." I scoff, rolling my eyes and slouching in my seat.

"I-I don't know, Token," I mumble, glancing over at him. "I still smell kind of like J-Jack and Coke, and I know how much Craig loves that shit. S-Something tells me that he'd have liked to finish it, had his night not been ruined by m-me." Token sighs, shaking his head at me like I'm not understanding something. I might be missing something; it's not uncommon for me. I'm terrible with subtlety, and being hungover doesn't really help.

"Dude, I can't speak for Craig, but you really freaked us all out when you disappeared." There's something vulnerable in Token's voice that keeps me quiet, something in the back of my mind telling me to let him speak. "We were all scared for you, but it definitely hit Craig the hardest. He looked for you for months- putting up posters, calling everyone, driving everywhere. He even drove all the way to Columbia to try and see if you had gone there early or something, about a week after we graduated."

A sinking feeling takes hold of me, and I feel a ball of guilt welling in my stomach. I wasn't in New York a week after graduation. I was still sitting in a bed at a hospital in Denver, under the name of Tommy Thatcher so no one would be able to find me.

"He.. He did?" I ask softly, my voice barely above a whisper. The little bit of muffin I'd eaten turns to stone in my stomach and I feel sick all over again, my stomach churning. Token nods slowly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Yeah. Clyde and I went with him, to make sure he didn't do anything stupid. He was a total mess, Tweek." He pauses, watching me closely. "I'm not blaming you or anything, believe me. I know you wouldn't have left like that without a good reason to. But.. I think you took part of Craig with you when you disappeared." I set my muffin down on the seat beside me, leaning forward on my knees and rubbing my hands over my face. I can't hear this. I'm not hearing this right now. I've felt guilty enough as it is over the years, but knowing that Craig was so sad makes it all so much worse. It means that my fears were true- he cared about me deeply, and he misses me to this day.

"I-I owe you guys an explanation, I know..." I say softly, staring at my knees. They deserve to know. They should have known from the moment I decided to accept Token's offer and join the tour. It's not fair of me to just show up after five years of being MIA. The taxi pulls to a stop in front of the concert hall and we step out into the cold air, thanking the driver and paying him. Token watches me expectantly as we walk towards the trailer, his expression open and kind. I keep my eyes forward, fiddling with the sleeves of my sweater until we get inside the office. Token sets everything on his desk and I do the same, sliding into the leather seat as I open my laptop.

"T-The night after graduation.. M-My dad kind of snapped." I start quietly, my voice barely above a whisper. Token leans in to hear me. My family was always kind of insane, on both sides. My mom's side had a history of pretty severe paranoid schizophrenia, though she never showed any signs, and both my dad and my grandmother were bipolar my whole life. My dad got worse when I was in high school, the episodes were more frequent than ever. I pull in a deep breath, feeling a lump well in my throat. "He.. He just s-snapped. Totally l-lost it.W-Wrecked the shop, crashed the c-car into the garage, tore u-up the house.. The cops c-came and pulled me from the house, s-sent me away. They t-told me I couldn't t-talk to or c-contact anyone from South Park, because they didn't w-want my dad to find me t-that night. They didn't w-want him to find my mom and m-me through anyone else." I can't bring myself to tell the whole story. That's a good chunk of it, but I spared him the gory details. I haven't actually told anyone the whole story since that night, when I was interviewed by the cops after I woke up in the hospital.

And, despite how long I've had them, I hate looking at the scars.

Token's eyes widen as I speak, and it makes me clam up even more. I hate it when people look at me like that, like I'm a puppy they just saw someone kick. That's one of the many reasons I don't like telling people what happened to me.

"Seriously?" Token asks in disbelief, his voice slow; it seems like he's still trying to process all of this. I nod, rubbing the back of my neck. "Jesus Christ, Tweek. I knew your dad was kinda whacky, but I had no idea he was capable of something like.. like that." Not knowing how else to respond, I shrug my shoulders at him, biting the inside of my cheek.

"N-No one did, r-really." I think back to that night, a shudder passing through me. The look in his eyes was so crazy, like a feral animal caught in a trap or something. He was looking at me like I was a stranger, like he didn't just sit in a crowd of parents and watch me graduate from high school.

"Why the hell were you going to go back to South Park, then? Isn't it dangerous for you?" Token questions, scanning me up and down. I shake my head.

"No, n-not anymore. He was arrested t-two years ago or so. They found him in the w-woods, living in a stolen tent or something." This is another reason I don't like talking about that night: I hate thinking about it. Token can tell that I'm a little uncomfortable with all of this, so he lets me drop it after that, choosing instead to go over what we'll be doing for the rest of the day. He tells me that it's fairly routine, that not much changes from night to night or even venue to venue unless something goes wrong.

I can't seem to push Craig out of my mind, though, and I'm distracted for most of the day. I feel like both sides of my brain are at war and I'm caught in the dead zone, taking hits from both sides. On the one hand, I'm selfishly happy that he waited for me like this, that he cared about me enough to look for me for months. It makes me feel almost warm inside knowing that someone I still care about also cares about me. But on the other hand, I sad. I'm sad for Craig, that he never got an answer until now and felt that sense of mystery towards my loss. I'm sad for my friends, because they lost someone and saw someone else fall apart right in front of them. And I'm sad for me, because I feel like I can't fix what I did to Craig with something as simple as an apology. He deserves so much more than that.

As I'm running errands for Token later that day I catch a glimpse of him on stage, and I swear it's like I'm looking at him for the first time. He's not front and center, like he was when he was singing that song last night, but I can only look at him. While he seems happier than he did last night at the bar, I can tell that he isn't operating at 100%. His eyes aren't as lively as usual, and while his expression is set in its usual stony state, there's something underneath it. Something sad. I consider it a small victory that I can still read him like a book.

I watch them on stage for a moment, a tiny smile on my face as they do the sound checks. I swear for a moment Clyde saw me, but I ducked out of the backstage area quickly when I thought he noticed me. I vaguely remember seeing flashes of each of them last night while in my drunken stupor, so they must know I'm here by now. God, I can't keep doing this. Maybe tonight after the concert I'll try and talk to Craig. I decide that that's what I'll do as I'm running papers back and forth between Kyle and Token, both of whom seem more stressed than yesterday.

Despite how much I keep complaining about this, I'm actually having a lot of fun working for Token. The work is fairly easy, plus I get to catch up with him and everything. He and Wendy have been dating for four years now, and he's thinking about proposing to her on the last day of the tour, on stage. Apparently, Kyle has been dating someone from South Park as well, a kid who moved in when we were in fourth grade. Davíd, if I'm remembering correctly; Craig and I were never really friends with him, but he's running his own restaurant in Denver now. And Token thinks that there's something going on between Kenny and Butters, but it's largely unconfirmed. Oh, and Kenny has a kid. Well, Bebe and Red have a kid who was fathered by Kenny. They have full parental rights legally, but they totally treat Kenny like he's her father. He really cares about her and loves going to see her whenever they're in California, where Bebe and Red live now. Everyone has something new about them that I don't know about, so it was fun to try and get to re-know them all.

Time flies and suddenly it's time for the concert, and tonight Token says that we have to be up in the control box to oversee the whole show. He puts in an earpiece that lets him speak with Butters, Kyle and any other important member of the team. I was to do as Token says to help him manage everything, which isn't far from what I've been doing anyway. The concert goes off pretty well, with only a few minor hiccups that were fixed pretty much right away. I'm standing in the hotel before I know it, talking to Kenny and Butters as we walk in.

I bite the inside of my cheek as Kenny and I slow to a stop in front of the elevators. I caught them both up on what was going on with me, and they seemed as shocked as Token was. "Can I ask you something?" I say softly, pulling on Kenny's sleeve to stop him from pressing the button. Both blondes slow to a stop, and Butters tilts his head at me curiously. They share a glance, but I can't tell what they silently talked about.

"Sure, man, go ahead." Kenny says, shrugging and waving his hand. Butters nods, giving me a gentle smile. He was always really easy to talk to, and gave the best advice out of anyone I've ever met. I pull in a deep breath before I speak again.

"Do you think Craig would be mad at me if I t-talked to him tonight..?" Kenny and Butters share another glance, longer this time, and it makes nervousness ball in the pit of my stomach.

"I... I don't think he'd be mad. He'd be upset at first, which I'm sure you know. But. I don't think he'd be mad." Kenny says, pursing his lips. "Especially if you tell him what you just told us."

"Yeah, Tweek," Butters chimes, resting a hand on my arm and giving me another reassuring grin. "I think he might be more upset if you don't talk to him." I hold my breath and nod, stepping into the elevators with them. They tell me Craig's room number and I head straight there, not wanting to give myself any time to stew over this decision. I'm suddenly staring at his door, my eyes glossing over the gold numbers. Jesus.

I raise my hand to knock, my fist shaking more than usual. The tap feels like an explosion, and the silence afterwards is deafening. I hear shuffling in the room beyond before the lock clicks open, the hinges squeaking quietly before Craig appears in front of me.

Like I said, every time I see him I feel like I'm seeing him for the first time. He looks exactly the same, but different in so many subtle ways. There's a five o'clock shadow lining his jaw, and his hair is closely trimmed on the sides but longer on top, showing off its natural wave; he used to straighten it and stuff it all under his hat, which I see is sitting on the nightstand beside the bed. He's wearing yellow plaid pajama pants and an old t shirt, both of which seem to have been used one too many times. He's about half a head shorter than me, just like he always was. There's more earrings in his ears than I remember and what looks like a scar over his right temple; I resist the urge to reach out and touch it. His eyes are still gray, and I'm close enough to see the tiny flecks of brown around his iris- they look surprised to see me.

My mouth opens to say something but nothing comes out, and I'm shaking all over now. He could blow me over with a single word, but the tension in the air would surely hold me up perfectly fine. I swallow the lump in my throat and snap my jaw closed, automatically picking at my cuticles as I stare openly at him. His eyes flicker down to my hands and he scoffs, quirking an eyebrow.

"You still fuck around with your hands when you're nervous." He whispers, making it sound more like a statement than a question- like he knew I would be doing it all along. I freeze at the sound of his voice.

"Um, I-I guess." I say, my voice breathy and tight. I hate this. There's a pressure building in my chest, and the look in Craig's eyes isn't making it go away like he used to be able to. He's pissed. He's totally pissed. He's totally pissed at me. We never used to get mad at each other. The realization makes me start shaking all over again, and I hold my breath in my throat. "I- um. I w-wanted to apologize. F-For last n-night. F-For.. Um.. For ev-everything." Shit, I'm stuttering really bad; I never used to stutter with Craig. Something in his expression softens when I start talking and a hitch forms between his eyebrows, his gaze dropping to the floor as he rubs at his forehead.

"Okay." He says, guilt edging his voice. I pull in a sharp breath, sucking my bottom lip between my teeth. Craig looks up at me once again and I freeze, staring at him as he pulls me into the room and clicks the door shut. He walks over to the bed and sits down stiffly on the edge, patting the space beside him without looking at me. We both suck at subtlety, I guess. That much hasn't changed.

At least he didn't slam the door on me. Or throw a drink in my face. Or call security on me. He looks less than comfortable right now, but I don't want to have to do this again. Craig turns sharply to look at me, his stony expression crumbled into one of hurt and confusion.

"Why didn't you call me..?" He asks, his voice tiny. My chest aches at the sound, but I can't bring myself to look away from him. This time, he's staring at me, searching my face like the answer will be written there.

"I-I couldn't." I murmur, twisting my hands in my lap. He still stares at me expectantly, his expression unchanging. I tear my gaze away from him as I tell him the story, choosing instead to pinch my eyes shut. I decide that he should know the whole thing.

If I can tell anyone about it, it's Craig.

"M-My dad, um. S-Snapped. After graduation. T-That's why I couldn't t-talk to you. I wanted to, h-honest. God, you're the only person I wanted that night." I explain, shakily letting go of the breath in my lungs. "He trashed everything. The house, the car, the shop. Everything. When I came home, my mom ha-had locked herself in the bathroom upstairs. She was screaming, and my dad was screaming... And the next thing I know..." I pause, feeling myself start to hyperventilate. Tears sting at the back of my eyes and I pinch the bridge of my nose, my voice wavering as I continue. "The next thing I know, I'm lying on my back in the foyer, with a knife sticking out of m-my chest. He.. He stabbed me, and he kept stabbing me. I-I didn't wake up until morning, in some hospital or something in Denver."

I only open my eyes when I hear a weird sound from Craig beside me, like he's trying to stop himself from crying. When I turn to look I see that he's hunched over, his hands covering his face. "Craig..?" I don't want to touch him. I feel like that might be stepping over this weird line I've drawn between us. He makes that sound again, sharply inhaling as he grips at his mouth. His eyes are now red-rimmed, tears spilling over his cheeks.

"So he.. He hurt you?" He asks, his voice barely above a whisper. I nod slowly, my lips pressed into a thin line as I hold my hands in a death grip on my lap. "That's why no one would talk to me, w-why you disappeared..? Because they thought he'd try to hurt you again..?" I close my eyes, my whole body shivering as I replay that night.

Suddenly I feel Craig's arms around me and his face in my neck, and I'm crying like a baby. My whole body is shaking as I bury my face in his chest, hunching as his arms wrap around me tightly. He pets down my hair like he used to, running his fingers through it to get me to calm down; touching always helps to bring me out of my own head when I get panicky or upset, but it never worked unless Craig was the one touching me.

Some things never change, I guess.

"I'm so s-sorry Craig," I choke, my voice tight. He knew I was planning on leaving earlier to get to college; I could tell something wasn't right with my dad, so my mom and I had been planning to get an apartment together near my school. But no one expected me gone the night after we graduated, not even me. I feel his heartbeat through his chest and I screw my eyes shut, balling his shirt in my fingers. He shakes his head, humming to get me to stop as he presses his cheek to my forehead; I feel tears there, and it sends me into another crying fit. Craig doesn't cry. I can't remember the last time he did- maybe at Stripe's funeral, when we were like twelve years old or so. God, I hate seeing him cry.

"Don't apologize," He murmurs, his voice low and calm. I hold my breath, curling closer to him. This feels weird, like I'm in a dream or something. It feels like I'm going to wake up in my shitty apartment, that goddamn light buzzing over my head and that stupid moth-eaten blanket covering me. "Don't be sorry. You didn't do anything wrong." Craig pulls in a sharp breath, pulling me closer. I'm almost in his lap at this point, curled in a tight ball against his chest.

God, this is where I've wanted to be for years.

"God, I knew it," Craig whispers against my forehead, his fingers still combing aimlessly through my rats nest of a head of hair. "I fucking knew it. I knew you wouldn't just leave me like that. And everyone was telling me that I was crazy, that it was stupid to keep looking for you... Fuck, Tweek, I missed you so much."

"..I would never leave you like that if I had a choice to." I murmur, adjusting my glasses back to their usual spot as I finally sit up again. When I see his face its confirmed that he was crying- well, that he still is. I use the end of my sleeve to wipe at his watery gray eyes, biting the corner of my lip as my eyebrows pinch together. He lets go of a shaky breath, his hands moving to my elbows like he doesn't want to let go of me. Something tells me that this all feels the same to him, like we're in some kind of dream world or something. Like I'll vanish if he takes his hands off me. Choking back another sob he pulls me back to his chest, his arms wrapping around my waist as I throw mine around his neck. "It won't happen again." I say firmly, trying to make him feel better.

I've wanted nothing more than to call him, to tell him what happened and explain myself to him, to give him closure. But by the time I felt like I could, when they found my dad and locked him in a mental hospital, I had convinced myself that Craig wouldn't want to hear from me anymore. Well, that no one would want to hear from me. I felt like too much time had passed and that it would only make them hate me more than they already probably did. Of course, I got way too into my own head. They're my friends, and they've always been my friends.

The only problem that still exists are my feelings for Craig.

I don't know what he's been doing lately, or who he's been doing for that matter. If he's been dating, if he's dating someone right now. It would be selfish of me to assume that he's waited all this time when he didn't know what happened to me. But, right now, there's this tiny part of me that thinks that he did. And I want to beat that part of me back with a bat, because the last goddamn thing I want to do right now is fuck this up.

Craig suddenly pulls in a deep breath and lets me go, wiping his face with the back of his hand as he shakes his head.

"I've never really gotten the hang of this crying thing," He says, his voice strangely steady. I laugh, rubbing the back of my neck.

"It looks good on you, at least." I say jokingly, smiling slightly. He lets go of a curt laugh, rolling his eyes to the ceiling as he shifts to be more comfortable. I wasn't lying, though, when I said that. He's a graceful cryer; his eyes are red-rimmed but not puffy, his nose isn't running, his face isn't splotchy. I, on the other hand, probably look like someone's just smacked me in the face.

"Why did you decide to go back..?" He asks, rubbing at his arm. I explain the rest of the story to him, saying how my dad was still missing and no one wanted me anywhere near Colorado, just to be safe. I let him ask question after question, wanting to give him as much as he needed to hear. The whole time I'm talking he looks like he's in pain, his face kind of scrunched up and his shoulders tense. Then he gets to the question I was dreading.

"Do you have scars or something?"

I look at my lap as I give a slow nod, picking at my nail. God, the last thing I want to do right now is show him my goddamn scars. I hate them. They only remind me of how shitty my life was back then, and how shitty it's made my life so far. Not to mention how self conscious they make me, as if I needed something else to be nervous about people seeing. They're thick and dark, and they're all over my chest and back. I couldn't take my shirt off for years- I still don't feel comfortable doing so. I think Craig can tell that I don't really want to talk about this anymore, because he's silent for a moment as he watches me. Craig takes a moment to look at me, his eyes moving up and down as he does so.

"You let your hair grow out." He comments softly, reaching forward to touch a few strands that have made their way out of my ponytail. I feel my cheeks instantly flush with color and I press my lips into a thin line, stiffening up slightly. He notices and hesitates for a moment, giving me a second to nod to tell him that it's okay. I thinks he thought that I didn't want him touching me, when it's the opposite; I need it so badly that I think I'll explode if he doesn't. My hazel eyes watch his fingers wrap around my hair, my lip locked between my teeth as he twists it loosely around his pointer finger, letting it go as his arm falls back to his side.

I decide to distract myself by finding things that have changed about him. I know, not the best strategy when I'm trying to keep a relative distance, but it's the best thing I could come up with when I'm sitting inches away from him; our knees are touching, for fucks sake. I let my gaze sweep over him, my eyes widening when I settle on his ears.

"You got gages!" I shout, my eyebrows rising high on my forehead. Craig laughs, nodding as he reaches up to touch his own earlobes. They aren't very big, but there are definitely holes in his ears now. He used to just have them pierced. Upon further inspection, I see that there are more piercings on him than I last remember: his tongue has a bar through it, his ears are littered with earrings, and he's got a thin silver ring through his septum.

"Mmhm. Kenny and I both got them done about two years ago, so you can go yell at him, too." Craig explains, tilting his head. He knows how squeamish I am about piercings- not so much on other people, but more so for myself. I hate needles, and whenever I see piercings on people that's all that I can think of. Tattoos do the same thing. "I could take them out if you want, to show you-"

"No! God, are you insane!?"

Laughter bubbles out of Craig's mouth at my exclamation, and it makes my whole chest flush with warmth. It feels like we're in high school again, like nothing has changed between us. We spend the rest of the night talking about nothing and everything, catching up and bullshitting for hours. He tells me that his family misses me just about as much as he does, and they'll be happy to know that I'm alright (he's agreed to leave out the part about the stabbing thing, thank god). His sister Ruby and Karen McCormick run a bakery on Main Street in South Park, and he says that it's his favorite place to go when he's home. He also informs me that everyone is breaking for a few days for thanksgiving, and he plans to go back like he always does. Craig rubs the back of his neck when he glances over at the clock on the nightstand, seeing that it reads 3:37 AM in blocky neon letters.

"We should probably get to bed." He says softly, sounding sad. I nod in agreement, a yawn proving my point for me. When I stand to leave, Craig reaches out and grabs my sleeve, his gray eyes wide as he shakes his head. "You.. Um. You can spend the night in here, if you want to..." He offers, finally sounding nervous. "You could borrow some of my pajamas, if you need. And the bed is big enough to share, so.." A soft smile pulls across my face and I nod, sinking back down onto the mattress. Craig seems relieved.

As if I'd say no.

He rummages through his suitcase for a moment and tosses me a shirt and a pair of plaid pajama pants, similar to the ones that he has on. He wanders into the bathroom while I change, mumbling about brushing his teeth. I'm waiting for him on the bed when he comes back, just looking around the room. Craig climbs in beside me, giving me a small smile as he reaches to turn out the light. When the room is bathed in darkness I hear him shift slightly closer to me, his breathing steady and even. I'm instantly tired and instantly at ease, once again feeling like I've been transported back in time; the only difference is that the sheets don't smell like Craig's bedroom, like a mix between Guinea pigs, the laundry detergent that his mom used to use and the vanilla candles that he used to steal from his sister.

"Tweek..?" I hear from beside me, closer than I had anticipated. It makes me smile so wide my cheeks hurt.

"Yeah?"

"..I'm really glad you're back."

"I'm really glad I'm back too, Craig."

"Goodnight, Tweek. Over and out."

"Night Craig. Over and out."


End file.
